Chapter 4: House Rules

Zariah

His fingers lingered near my ear for a second longer than necessary.

I felt that touch everywhere.

Malik stepped back, giving me space again, but the air between us still felt thick.

Charged.

Like something was waiting to snap.

I took another bite of the pasta to give myself something to do.

It was surprisingly good, but I barely tasted it.

My mind was too busy trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last few hours.

One minute I was burying my father.

The next minute I was being shot at.

And now I was standing in the kitchen of a man who had just told me I belonged to him.

I set the fork down and looked at him.

“So what happens now?” I asked.

Malik leaned against the counter across from me.

“Now you stay here. Where it’s safe.”

“Safe from what exactly?”

“From the people who tried to kill you at the funeral. And from anyone else who might want to use you against me.”

I crossed my arms.

“So I’m your prisoner.”

“You’re under my protection.”

“Same thing.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

He pushed off the counter and walked around the island until he was standing right in front of me again.

Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

“Most people in your position would be begging me to let them go,” he said quietly.

“I’m not most people,” I replied, repeating what I had said earlier.

A small, dark smile touched his mouth.

“No. You are not.”

He reached out and gently touched my chin, tilting my face up a little more.

“There are rules while you are here,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Of course there are.”

“Rule one,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm.

“You do not leave this penthouse without me or one of my men.”

“Rule two,” I said, cutting him off.

“I am not your property.”

His eyes darkened.

“You are mine to protect. That is different.”

“It feels the same from where I am standing.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying me.

Then he said,

“You can move freely inside the penthouse. The kitchen is yours. The guest room is yours. But you do not go near the front door unless I say so.”

I stared at him.

“And if I do?”

Malik leaned in closer, his voice dropping.

“Then I will remind you who you belong to. And I promise you will not like how I do it.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

I hated how my body reacted to his words.

I hated it even more that part of me wanted to test him.

I stepped back, breaking the moment.

“I need to call my grandmother. She is probably losing her mind right now.”

Malik nodded.

“You can use my phone. But I will be listening.”

“Of course you will,” I muttered.

He handed me his phone.

I dialed my grandmother’s number with shaking fingers.

When she answered, her voice was frantic.

“Zariah? Baby, where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I said quickly.

“I’m safe. Someone is protecting me.”

“Who?”

I glanced at Malik.

“Someone powerful.”

My grandmother was quiet for a moment.

Then she whispered,

“Is it him? The man from the funeral?”

I didn’t answer.

“Zariah,” she said, voice full of fear.

“Be careful. That man is dangerous.”

“I know,” I whispered back.

Malik was watching me the entire time, his eyes never leaving my face.

When I hung up, I handed him the phone.

He took it and set it down.

“Are you satisfied?” I asked.

“Not even close.”

He stepped closer again.

“You are going to fight me on everything, aren’t you?”

I lifted my chin.

“Probably.”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Good. I was hoping you would.”

He reached out and brushed his thumb across my bottom lip.

“Because the more you fight me,” he murmured, “the more I want to keep you.”

I felt my heart skip a beat.

And for the first time, I realized something terrifying.

I was starting to want him to keep me too.